Hunger Games Mockingjay Epilogue
by TigerzEye5
Summary: Oneshot. My version of the Mockingjay epilogue. Same thematic elements, but with a more redemptive quality to the relationship between Katniss and Peeta.


**Description**: I loved Hunger Games and Catching Fire, and I generally liked Mockingjay, HOWEVER I felt that the ending was devoid of a redemptive quality that would have enhanced the experience for me. My feeling from Katniss at the end was that she was withdrawn and numb. More similar to the things she hated about her mother, than the Katniss I had come to know. I felt that although Katniss and Peeta had "won" out over the darker elements and characters, that they ultimately lost the real Game of Life by their loss of love and hope. I feel that ending it differently the story could be more inspirational. Adding hope. That despite difficulties time and time again, that there can be redemption and that the pain and suffering doesn't have to be in vain. That good wins out.

Writing this helped me to process how I felt after reading the final chapters. I hope it is enjoyable and maybe helpful to anyone that walked away feeling like I did. Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything affiliated with the Hunger Games Trilogy**

Slowly, bit by bit Peeta returns. My Peeta. My secret hope was that the final blast, or the kiss, or some specific memory would turn like a lock in a key and free his mind from all the deception. No such luck. Memory by memory Peeta worked to iron out truth from deception and silence the eerie voices that rang in his head. But he never stopped trying. I see now that it was Peeta's resolve that always made him so irresistible. His resolve to keep on loving me no matter what the cost, the price, the pain. This ran deeper than the tracker venom could penetrate, and was the fuel that kept him revisiting the darkest corners of his memory.

Happiness returned. Not in the showy and coerced way that had come through the Games. But day by day in the planting of Prim's garden, the aimless drifting through the woods, meals shared, stories revisited, the pain and joys of simply trying to live life. Without the lights and cameras, we were reborn. As the dark Peeta slowly diminished, he returned pieces of the boy I had come to love. As he returned, it was as if my rock, my center of gravity returned with him. With a nest to return to, this seared Mockingjay slowly began to heal as well. After so long of such the opposite, now I no longer did I take the small things for granted. Having him near. The touch of his hand. The way he brushed the hair from my forehead. Ours was a love that had been through hell and back and that excruciating journey created a depth that was only now becoming evident.

It took four long years before I began to recognize myself, and this boy who had become my world. When we married it was a quiet affair, outdoors and celebrated in the simple fashion of our upbringing. But I couldn't help but feel the loved ones of my past – whose scars will forever be on my heart – smiling down on us. After all the pain and suffering and everything that so many endured on our behalf, ours is debt of gratitude. A happiness that cries out that their lives were not, and will never have been, in vain. We owe this happiness to them, and that fact is not lost on us as we endeavor to savor every moment.

People are always surprise to discover we have children. Coming from the girl that had sworn not to have any, I understand their confusion. However, in my heart I always knew that Peeta would be a wonderful father, even if I was the reluctant mother. I suspected that he would love the child for both of us. Peeta was ever the doting father-to-be, and I knew that this was a small way I could repay his goodness to me. However, I was completely taken aback when the bright blue eyes framed by the midnight locks fixed themselves on me. It was then that I realized that this little girl was actually a gift to me. The part of my heart that was so broken upon the death of my dear Prim fluttered to life, and I realized that I had not ever truly known love until now. Our son was even more of a surprise with his curly locks and playful-gray eyes. If my daughter taught me to love, my son taught me to laugh. I can't imagine life without them. They give me hope for this mess of a world.

We each have our ways we keep the memories of our dear ones alive. Peeta paints. I sing. Once the doors had reopened to that area of my life it was as if nothing could shut them again. And that expression was like a salve to the wounds on my heart. Together we work on the book that we created where we can celebrate the smallest details of those precious lives. Prim. Rue. Finnick. Cinna. They and so many others who were lost but never forgotten.

As we grow old our stories are passed down, never to be forgotten. How we defeated the Hunger Games; how we took back our freedom, but most of all that through the despair and devastation we found hope. We lived.


End file.
